The Tide Rocks
by Sunny D1
Summary: Millionaire teen Buffy Summers scours the world for dangerous archaeological adventures. When she meets the mysterious Liam ‘Angel’ O’Connor she discovers in him a challenger to her tomb raiding activities and a possible threat to her heart.
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: The Tide Rocks  
  
AUTHOR: Sunny D  
  
DISCLAIMER: It's all Joss' and I wouldn't have it any other way.  
  
SPOILERS: This is total AU so none'  
  
SUMMARY: Millionaire teen Buffy Summers scours the world for dangerous archaeological adventures. When she meets the mysterious Liam 'Angel' O'Connor she discovers in him a challenger to her tomb raiding activities and a possible threat to her heart.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: is fine and dandy, just drop me a line so I know where to visit it.  
  
AUTHORS' NOTES: Written for the Whedonverse AU Ficathon (run by Isis and Stars). The request will come at the end of the fic.

Part 1

_Contact, bent knees, push, fly, contact, bent knees, push, fly_...Buffy closed her eyes and let the rhythm take her over. _Contact_ – sun-baked rock beneath her fingertips – _bent knees_ – absorbing the impact, taking in the kinetic energy, translating it into something new – _push_ – _fly_ – backward and downward, cutting a c-shaped arc in the air – _contact_...

"Having fun there?" Faith's voice was so clear she could have been beside the fair-haired abseiler instead of 80 feet below her. Buffy sent a silent thank you to Willow for kick-ass technology that actually worked this time.

"Yeah a little," Buffy tried not to giggle as she replied, it too k effort but it would be nothing short of cruel to show how truly great this felt when Faith had probably spent the last two hours pacing, bored out of her mind. But time was of the essence; when it came to aggressive driving, lock-picking and intimidation tactics Faith was a hands-down shoo-in every time. Rock-climbing, however, lay in Buffy's area of expertise and she'd scaled the ragged rock face in half the time it would have taken her friend.

"Well don't get too comfortable," Faith warned, "your boo just pulled up and I think he's starring at your ass."

"Angel?" Buffy's voice was a squeak as she hit the rock face and failed to bend her knees sufficiently, causing the jarring impact to painfully spiral through her body. 'Real slick,' she congratulated herself. Breaking her rhythm she turned to look down.

Far below her she could see the mid-morning sun bouncing off the dark roof of a four wheel drive. The vehicle was parked as close to the mountain as the dirt road would allow, which still meant a good 50 yard walk for the two occupants.

"Well let's see," Faith cheekily responded, "tall, dark and lustsome? Check. Broody cloud of disaffection? Check. Ever-present sun-bleached cousin in tow? Check. Yep it's your boo."

"He is _not_ my boo," Buffy half-heartedly protested watching the determined approach of the two men. "Do you think they're really pissed off? They look really pissed off."

"Why cares, we'll just deny everything, and you totally owed Angel for – hey Angel, fancy meeting you here."

Buffy laughed at her friend's boldness and tried not to listen to the one sided conversation she could hear in her earpiece. It was suddenly hard not to treat her descent like a performance, every inch of her was aware of Angel's presence below and her limbs suddenly felt clumsy and awkward. She forced herself to focus, concentrate on taking neat even leaps; the rhythm came back easily until she was again taking huge graceful gulps out of the distance that remained between herself and the ground.

"I don't know jack about these relic-y things, but do ancient maps really appear out of thin air?" Buffy nearly missed her footing again as she caught Faith's teasing comment. What happened to 'deny everything?' She shook her head, that girl had no shame, thankfully.

Spike must have been less impressed with their little prank because Faith's next words, "Hey Blondie, save the sermon eh? You snooze, you lose, get over it," were clearly directed at him.

40 feet to go.

"Uh, is that code for 'damn, I can't believe they got it before me?" Faith asked in response to an unheard comment.

25 feet.

"Spike please, stop, you're gonna make me choke to death on my own bile."

Laughing silently Buffy made the final jump to Earth and had to disguise her chuckle as a cough as she turned to face their guests. Angel stood to Faith's left, hands pushed deeply into the pockets of loose, white cotton trousers, expression sour as ever. In any other man, such a determinedly and consistently unhappy demeanour would detract from their attractiveness, but Buffy couldn't help noting that the unusually light coloured clothing suited Angel just as much as his customary black, and the strong sunlight brought out flattering shades of brown in his eyes that made her want to look even closer.

"Find anything' interestin' up there Summers?" Spike asked, providing a welcome distraction.

"Oh it's 'Summers' now is it?" she asked, willingly turning to face the scowling blonde. A red blush quickly suffused his cheeks as he immediately picked up on her allusion to the months he'd spent ruthlessly trying to court her affection. His scowl deepened. Buffy held her lips in a straight line in an effort not to give into the smile that threatened but it was always so satisfying to tease Spike. Usually she'd balk at the thought of manipulating another person's feelings so callously, but there were two very good reasons to keep doing it.

Firstly, Spike was an obnoxious dick which mitigated any possible feelings of guilt. His only redeeming features were his loyalty to his family and the fact that he was great at sex; the latter of which Buffy had only discovered because they'd happened to meet at a particularly low point in both their lives. The night they met Spike had been uncharacteristically uncommunicative, while Buffy had been unusually open, and for a few hours they'd done an excellent job of alleviating each other's pain. Yet while Buffy would easily admit - to Willow and Faith at least - that Spike could do things that made her forget her own name, his subsequent behaviour had convinced her there was nothing that would induce her to the repeat performance he so desired.

The second and highly questionable reason was that her relationship with Spike or lack there of had so far proved to be the only way of provoking a reaction out of his taller, darker and ridiculously quieter cousin. Like now, she stole a look at him and sure enough his relaxed posture had stiffened and his eyes, now averted, were darker. She wasn't sure if she was trying to piss him off or get him interested, she just wanted to know that she affected him, because he affected her in ways that made her fear for her sanity.

"Didn't stumble across any unusual rocks then?" Angel asked indifferently allowing his eyes to travel back to her.

Buffy shrugged, unclipped the safety harness from her waist and calmly pulled a cloth wrapped package out of her backpack. Removing the covering she turned slightly so that the sunlight bounced off the multiple angles of the fist-sized igneous rock that sat in her palm. "This old thing?" she asked.

Faith whistled, impressed at their find, "books weren't kidding were they? It looks like there's actually water in there." The rock boasted a smooth, thick outer-layer, yet somehow, beneath the grey exterior, the interior seemed fluid, as though the original molten material had cooled so quickly part of it had remained liquid.

Buffy watched as Angel eyed the rock appreciatively, a tiny smile softening his features. "Can I touch it?" He asked quietly.

Buffy smiled back wryly and raised an eyebrow, "like you 'touched' my pre-historic Romanian ceremonial dish at Christmas?"

Angel looked up and into her eyes, the smile disappearing; "hey, no sooner did I look then I loved, no sooner did I love then I had to have."

Buffy tried to convince herself that there was no special meaning in his words, but she suddenly became aware of her heart thumping out a staccato beat. "I told you what I was after and you deliberately out-bid me!" She reminded him, recalling the Sotheby's auction house in London. Driving rain, Christmas crowds, the excitement of the festive season and a tall, handsome man with a New York accent she'd met for the first time.

"You're welcome to visit," he told her seriously.

She rolled her eyes at him, "take a good look from where you stand Mister cos this is as close as you're getting."

"Well while you guys get up close and personal with a rock I'm gonna make myself useful," Faith announced heading over to sort out the trailing rock climbing equipment. Spike grunted in agreement and stalked off towards the car.

"Nice map," Angel stated, looking again at the rock but referring to the 'ancient' map a local guide had produced the evening before, taking he and Spike off in completely the wrong direction from where the Tide Rock actually lay. They had travelled nine hours south before Angel realised the map was a fake.

Buffy smiled nervously, trying to read his expression, "I figured I owed you." He nodded, then took a step back, before conversationally noting, "you do realise there are another two right?"

Buffy frowned, "of these?" she asked holding the rock up.

"Funny thing; the Armenians didn't differentiate between singular and plural in their writing."

"Are we going or what?" Spike called impatiently from the car, "I'm bloody dying of sunstroke here."

Angel stared at her silently for a few moments, and she wondered if he was going to say more. He didn't, turning instead to stalk off to the car. She watched his retreating back, confused, 'since when were there three Tide rocks?' Suddenly Angel turned back, stared at her, paused unsure, then called "I'll race you to Venice," before spinning to stride off once more.


	2. Part Two

Part Two.

At 19 Buffy should have felt at home on a college campus, after all it was where most of her peers spent the majority of their time. Yet every time she walked on to the UC Sunnydale grounds she knew with certainty that she could not endure spending another four years of her life in an institution. The lecture theatres, the labs, the need to excel at government prescribed educational activities; it was far more sophisticated than high school but really just an extension of the same. It made her feel closeted and nauseous just contemplating it.

Visiting, however, was fine and as she made her way up the neatly tended pathway towards the computer lab, she happily admired the view.

The computer labs were buried in the basement of the library building, the university administration having long realised that the students who frequented them had no use for natural light. Willow Rosenburg certainly didn't notice as she stared tiredly at the computer screen in front of her. 'Advanced Computer Science' had looked exciting in the course guide, but was proving to be tedious rather than stretching. Sitting alone in the deserted computer lab in the middle of the afternoon made the task seem that much more laborious; but a diligent student, Willow felt compelled to ensure her work was as thorough as possible. Maybe when she was done she would reward herself by working on that heat powered flashlight she was building for –

"Imagine finding you here."

Willow spun then jumped up excitedly, "Buffy!" She hugged her friend tightly then pulled back to surreptitiously check her over for injuries, "I didn't hear you come in stealthy gal."

"I'm all in one piece, Will," Buffy laughed, completely aware of the examination.

"How was Tanzania? You look all toasty."

Anybody watching the two girls would have been hard pressed not to notice the striking differences between them. Buffy was indeed tanned to a golden brown, thick wheat coloured hair hung almost to the small of her back while large, wide-set green eyes made her a visual example of the ideal most Californian girls aspired to. At a lowly 5"3 she fell far short of model height, but a blemishless complexion coupled with symmetrical features and a slight but perfectly proportioned figure guaranteed she turned heads all the same.

In contrast Willow's extremely fair complexion forced her to use the strongest sun cream available, a fact she often used as an excuse to spend beautiful sunlit days in basement labs or dusty libraries. Despite the inconvenience of highly sensitive skin, Willow's pale complexion set off dark poppy-red hair in a manner that, at the very worst, could only be described as arresting. Soft brown eyes and a small pert nose also flattered. Her mouth was too thin to be truly attractive, but a gentle temperament softened every expression making the computer scholar far more attractive that she could ever be persuaded to believe.

"Tanzania was good." Buffy casually reached into her Prada clutch to bring out a cloth wrapped object, then promptly clapped her hands over her ears to protect them from Willow's delighted squeal.

"You got it!" She exclaimed bouncing with breathless excitement. "I wasn't sure you had because you called and you didn't say anything," she unwrapped the object still babbling, "so I thought maybe I'd got the location wrong or Angel got there first or -"she stopped abruptly, holding the rock up to the florescent lights and marvelling as the light reflected off its surface. "Wow! When are you sending it off?"

"Tomorrow I guess, I have to call the Tanzanian department of antiquities," Buffy replied, leaping lightly to sit on a bench. "Anyway, I figured you'd wanna play first."

"Oh yes," Willow gushed happily. "Can you see that?" Without waiting for an answer she raced over to the lights and turned them off, plunging the lab into a blackness relieved only by the thin strip of light that snuck in from under the door. She then noisily returned to where Buffy stood, grunting as she bumped into a stool, to turn on a single lamp. "It's shaped so that the light reflects off it in a pattern. See? If you get the angle of the light right the pattern's supposed to form an image of something."

"So the name comes from all the water rushing about in there right?"

"It's not water, just a play of light on the surface. But yeah...that and the ancient Armenians thought they could control the sea using it."

"Sweet." Buffy stared up at the random lines of shadow formed on the lab ceiling. They didn't mean a thing to her but it was hard not to get swept away in Willow's enthusiasm.

"Angel says there are two more," she suddenly remembered.

"What?" Willow demanded, alarmed, as she always was upon discovering there was something she didn't know. "Where did he read that? There's no mention of that?"

"I don't know, but he offered to race me to Venice."

"Venice? Really? Well I guess it's possible, after all it was a major trading port in the 17th century. The Tide Rock is first mentioned in the Armenian book of The Living, before it fell into the hands of the Sudanese who were more interested in precious metals, but could quite conceivably have-"

"Venice should be nice this time of year," Buffy quietly mused, oblivious to Willow's chatter.

Willow stopped abruptly, paused to consider, then voiced a worried, "uh oh."

Buffy looked down from the ceiling and jerked back when she found Willow's face barely an inch away, peering closely at her. "What?" she asked, but was rewarded with muted grunts as Willow stumbled back to the light switch.

"Uh oh,' it will involve danger? Copious research?" Buffy blinked against the sudden light as she tried to gage the cause of the 'uh oh,' "cos you know I'm up for the danger." She frowned as Willow made her way back, still examining her like a lab specimen.

"Venice should be nice huh?" Willow asked gently. Buffy felt her cheeks flame red as she realised where this was going.

"No, I'm not – I didn't mean it like that!" she protested quickly, but there was no way of fooling Willow.

The girls had first met in kindergarten but hadn't become friends until 2nd grade when Xander Harris had called Willow 'tomato-head' and taking pity on the quiet girl struggling not to cry, Buffy had stabbed him in the leg with a pencil. Willow had admired Buffy's fearlessness and Buffy had enjoyed having someone to take care of. Over the years the relationship had changed significantly; Willow was still shy but wouldn't hesitate to stand up for her friends or the things she believed in, and the fearlessness she'd seen in Buffy she'd soon discovered was as much defensive as it was as an outlet for the many troubles Buffy kept hidden far below the surface. She'd learned to read the varied shades in the tone of her friend's voice and could differentiate between expressions that to the outsider looked uncompromisingly carefree and happy.

Pulling herself up on to the bench opposite, Willow shook her head regretfully; and couldn't help another "uh oh," escaping.

"No! This isn't an 'uh-oh,' I'm fine! Really!"

Willow looked gently at her friend, like a doctor who regrets having to deliver bad news but knows there's no way of avoiding it. "I've seen this look before," she observed.

"What look? There is no _look_,"

"You had this look when you first met He Who Shall Not Be Named."

Buffy cringed. "Why are we mentioning the one we're never supposed to mention? And this look can't be anything like that look. Because _that_ look would have been the lost, naïve high school girl begging for somebody to snatch her heart out, maul it like dough then use it as bird food." She paused for breath, then pointed to her face. "_This_ look is the grown up, woman of the world, Faithesque 'I want a thing, you want a thing, let's get together and have a thing, no commitments or trampling of hearts' look."

Willow shook her head gently, "that's not the look."

"Worked with Spike," Buffy pointed out in a small voice.

"Spike was right after Parker-"

"Hey!"

"Sorry, he was right after He Who Shall Not Be Named, so he was rebound guy, if even that, he was more 'I'm feeling weak, I need a moment of passion guy.' You didn't have this look with him."

Buffy whimpered and let her head fall despondently into her hands.

"Well it- it might not be so bad," Willow rushed to comfort her, "they're very different guys. Park- sorry, He Who Shall Not Be Named was all open and 'share my pain'- well until he started to keep secrets..." she waved a hand to dismiss that line of thought, "while Angel sounds really quiet."

Buffy raised her head to send Willow a sceptical frown. "There's quiet - that's cute, it's refreshing - and then there's ominously silent, that's not so cute. That's more Norman Bates, I have serious problems and if I speak more than two words you'll become aware of them."

"But he spoke to you in London," Willow pointed out.

"Only so he could steal my plate," Buffy pouted.

"And then in Tanzania you talked."

"Yeah, 'race you to Venice' was us talking. Maybe he really is pissed off about the map and he's planning on killing me in Venice."

"Buffy stop. So he's quiet," Willow paused at her friend's frown, "okay, _silent_," she amended, "but you share an interest," she pointed to the Tide Rock, "-tomb raiding, and at least you know he's not after your money, he's ridiculously rich too."

Buffy spared her friend a small bemused smile. Willow took every opportunity to tease her about her privileged lifestyle which just amused Buffy because with a psychiatrist mother and US defence scientist father, Willow's background wasn't too shabby either.

"I don't know Will, he's just so...self-assured and...mysterious. You should have seen him at that party in London, every woman in there was after him, even the waitresses were star struck, and he just did this stand-offish, Mr Darcy thing. Spent the whole night with his friends."

"At least he's not a ladies man," Willow offered uncertainly.

"I don't know about that, there are all these stories about him and women...and," her expression suddenly sheepish, "Igoogledhim, and he's been linked to a ton of beautiful women. Oh, and let's not forget that I slept with his cousin, that's always a turn on. God I'm a slut."

"No Buffy, that's not true."

"And why do I even care? Like I want to go through all of that again."

Willow didn't have to ask what 'all of that' was; she hadn't realised how close Buffy was to breaking until Parker broke her heart. Now she was just as worried about her friend getting into another relationship as Buffy was, despite the two years that had passed since her last one. However, "sometimes the only way to regain your confidence is to get back on the horse Buffy."

"I know Will," Buffy sighed, "high school feels like years ago, but all that stuff with Parker..." Buffy raised a hand, palm face down, and positioned it under her chin, "it's right here." Her voice quivered as her eyes suddenly became glassy with tears and she had to take a steadying breath before adding, "I don't want to do that again Will."

Willow nodded and moved quickly to envelope her friend in a reassuring hug.


	3. Part Three

Part 3

Buffy put her car into park and glanced down at her watch; 4.15pm so Faith should be up. She paused to listen and sure enough a series of splashes could be heard from the pool area. Returning to an empty house used to be the worst part of every day, closely followed by waking up in an empty house. Her father, Hank, seemed to make a point of constantly being away on business and when he was in LA he spent most of his time with a series of girlfriends barely older than his daughter. Her grandmother, who lived in Florida, assured Buffy that Hank had been deeply in love with her mother and his lack of visible affection for his daughter might be due to how like her mother she increasingly looked. That hadn't comforted the lonely 10 year old who had never known her mother and saw the housekeeper more than her father, and it didn't abate the resentment of the now 19 year old woman.

Buffy had met Faith at the start of Senior year. It had been four months since the Parker debacle, and she had decided a three-day lecture in Boston on 'The Archaeology of Buddhism in Tibet,' was a far more interesting prospect than the unbearable tedium of resuming classes and the pain of trying to avoid her ex. She'd emerged from the conference centre at midday to find a dark-haired teen starring intently at her rented C-Class Mercedes convertible.

"Pretty cute huh?" She'd commented, coming up to stand beside the girl. Faith had shrugged, immediately affecting an air of disinterest.

"2.6 litre tank with a 168 horse power engine? It probably eats gas like a starving child and overheats if you hit 90."

Buffy'd raised a bemused eyebrow, somebody knew about cars. "Want to take her for a spin?" She'd held out the car keys before her brain had a chance to protest. It wasn't a big deal, handing a $15,000 car over to a complete stranger; she could have bought a couple of the vehicles and still had room to manoeuvre within her monthly allowance. Maybe it had been a test, Buffy wasn't certain; she'd just had a feeling about the girl.

Faith had looked at her, thrown for a second, trying to work out the catch. Then deciding to seize the opportunity before it passed, she'd casually reached out for the offered keys.

"Take your time, I'm off in search of food," Buffy had announced turning away. "Leave the keys with the desk," she'd added, using a thumb to indicate the building behind her; then as an after-thought she'd turned back and extended a hand, "Buffy Summers."

Faith barely paused thus time, "Faith," she replied taking the proffered hand.

When Buffy returned from lunch the car was back, Faith perched on the hood, the keys flipping casually from hand to hand.

"Verdict?" Buffy had asked.

"Pretty sweet," Faith had conceded.

Buffy had nodded, then paused to run a critical eye over the girl before her. Her blue denim jeans were faded, not in that expensive, 'look, I've worn this article more than once,' style Buffy paid her favourite designers extra to provide, but in that way where the material begins to thin from multiple washings. They fit her 'slighter than it should be' frame like a new layer of skin, stopping at her hips and leaving a wide slice of skin exposed before the, also form-fitting, black cotton top began. The front of the top dipped low at the front leaving cleavage that Buffy had stopped dreaming about ever having by age 15, showing. Her face was made up with a few too many products, like a young girl raiding her mother's cosmetic's, but considering brown eyes, full, pouty lips and rich, untied, black hair meant she was too attractive to ever really ruin her appearance. The September weather was beginning to cool, and Buffy, unused to the New England temperatures and sporting a thick roll neck sweater, felt a shiver at Faith's lack of further clothing. The girl was probably cutting school, yet something about the ease with which she sat in the middle of downtown suggested she hadn't attended school in a while.

"D'you have plans this weekend?" For the second time that day Buffy spoke purely on instinct.

Faith's eyes had stopped considering the girl before her and immediately narrowed suspiciously. What did she expect; a strange girl would just let some street kid borrow the keys to her blinging ride without looking for something in return? Where had her senses gone?

She leaped lightly off the car and held the keys out, "hey, no thanks, I like my partners with a full side order of dick."

"You and me both," Buffy replied unoffended, "I'm not gay."

Faith shrugged slightly, but her expression remained blank, her arm extended; she had no interest in any further dialogue with this rich bitch. Faith had an excellent instinct for spotting trouble, anything she couldn't immediately classify as either safe or a threat she simply assumed was the former. This sun-drenched, Beverly Hills Bimbo clearly had more money than sense and fitted very neatly into the 'treat as possible threat' category.

Buffy raised a reassuring hand. "Hear me out for a second."

Faith rolled her eyes tiredly and allowed her arm to drift back to her side.

"I'm at this lecture on all the incredible things explorers have found in Tibet, and I'm thinking, 'why am I sitting here in Boston looking at pictures of Tibet?"

"You want me to go to Tibet with you?" Faith asked dubiously.

"You look like somebody who can handle themselves."

Faith's expression had remained unchanged but inside she'd given a mental shake of her head and wondered just how dumb she looked. Like some kid with a silver spoon stuck up her ass and enough money to buy a couple of dozen friends really required questionable company on a trip to Tibet. It was always the girls, and the innocuous, innocent rich ones you had to watch. There was a limit to the damage some skeezer, equally down on his luck, could do to you. But the girls didn't want your body – generally – and could just find it in themselves to hate you enough to do you some serious damage. As for the rich kids slumming it for laughs, she'd heard enough stories to know you could scream 'fire' all you wanted and all the police would do was lock your ass up. She didn't know what this kid's game was and she had less than no interest in finding out.

"No, thanks," she repeated again, and held out the keys.

Buffy accepted them back with a shrug, then reached in a back pocket to pull out a card. "Fine, I guess there's more than enough to do in Boston. But if you change your mind give me a call, I'm betting it's gonnna be pretty wicked."

Faith had deliberately crossed her arms leaving Buffy to shrug again and tuck the card into the window of her car before turning and heading back into the conference building.

Faith didn't know why she'd taken the card, but by the middle of the week, when the offer began to burn a hole in her pocket, she definitely wished she hadn't. It was such a strange offer and it irked her not being able to work out the angle. Was the whole thing a joke, some kid messing with her mind? But Faith was pretty good at reading people; this kid was far from home, at some talk instead of her leafy private school, and she seemed just as daring as she was unhappy. There was definitely stuff going on with her. Or maybe there was some Tibetan chain gang and the kid made her money selling society's riff-raff into it, after all, who'd miss her?

Faith's instinct for self-preservation warned her that nothing good came without a price, but she'd never been one to shy away from danger. And Tibet? She didn't even know where the hell that was on the map, but it sounded pretty damn far from South Boston, and that was an undisputable plus. She'd deliberated and procrastinated before finally picking up the phone and calling to say, "I don't have a passport." Maybe not but it appeared money could make those kind of things appear too.

Tibet had been great fun; not chocolates and midnight girly confessions fun, but speeding jeeps across vast empty plains, getting drunk with the locals and scaling dangerous mountain ranges fun. Buffy discovered what she'd sensed upon first meeting Faith; the girl was genuine: she didn't sugar coat anything, didn't try to cheer her up or get inside her head, didn't really care about anything beyond herself and her pursuit of a good time. Faith in turn recognised a kindred spirit, somebody as lost as she was. On the plane journey home Buffy had asked Faith to be her personal assistant, on call for such expeditions. Faith had looked curiously at this girl with more money than any single person should rightfully have and felt no qualms about helping her spend it, agreeing almost instantly.

Buffy rounded the corner to the pool in time to see Faith's dark head dip into the sky blue water, closely followed by her feet as she turned for another lap. Approaching the edge Buffy rolled up her jeans and sat at the poolside, letting her feet sink into the cooling water. Five laps later and Faith finally stopped, drifting leisurely over to the edge.

"So Red have anything to add beyond, 'it's an old rock?"

Buffy laughed, "You know Willow, she had a lot to add, but the only thing we need to know is that there are two more."

"Which Angel already told you."

"Yes"

"But Red doesn't know where?"

"No."

"Right. You need to fire that girl, she's seriously slacking."

"Yeah, cos I pay her to spend her life in that lab," Buffy good naturedly replied. She chewed on a nail, looked up at the blue expanse of sky and wondered what to do on such a fine Californian day.

"We have three options," Faith announced, Buffy didn't even bother to be surprised, when it came to short attention spans and the on-going quest for adventure their minds tended to run in tangent. That and Willow said the nail thing was a dead give-away. "Option 1: we scope out the action on the Californian radar, check out if there are any cool frat parties going on. But since you're still avoiding that Douche Bag Parker and hating those 'so what are you doing now Buffy?' questions I'm thinking," she screwed up an imaginary sheet of paper and threw it over her shoulder. "Option 2: we go to New York, where we know nobody, and you flash your platinum and that arrogant smile that says 'I could buy this place from beneath you,' and get us into cool parties. Or..." she paused to allow the last idea to settle, "we go to Venice and check out your boo."

Buffy rolled her eyes at the nickname. "He doesn't even like me."

"Yeah, you said." Faith leaned back into the water and began a leisurely back stroke.

Buffy starred at the ripples rolling out from her friend and swiftly weighed up the alternatives. California got boring really fast and the 24 hours they'd been back was more than enough. New York was definitely tempting, contrary to Faith's words, they usually ended up at small, exclusive clubs where they were only admitted because Faith had a way with words that fake ID's just couldn't manage. But New York was how Spike had happened the previous summer and Buffy wasn't in the mood for flirting and alcohol. That left Venice. Despite Willow's lack of a response, October really was a great time of year to see the City on Water. She wondered if Angel would already be there and her heart leaped at the thought. Damn Willow and her annoying perceptiveness. She was smitten and if that guy wasn't danger with a capital 'D' then she'd start using the full Elisabeth Anne Summers as her name. But Venice also meant adventure; she and Faith would be in a position to follow up on any clues or ideas Willow had. Angel was really only a tiny part of her desire to go to Italy. Miniscule even.

"Venice!" she called out, standing up decisively. "I'll go book tickets."


	4. Part Four

Part 4

The air above Treviso airport was cloudless: as the small aircraft carrier circled in to land it was possible to see all the way to the glistening Canal Grande. Neither Buffy nor Faith were aware of the view however, after a 14 hour long haul flight to Rome and then a connecting 1 hour plane journey to mainland Venice, it was all the girls could do to disengage their seatbelts and disembark at the appropriate time.

The taxi ride to the Piazzale Roma took another 45 minutes, and it was late afternoon by the time they stepped off the gondola on the Lido shore.

Buffy's journey planning rarely extended beyond booking tickets, she generally found that money paved the way to whatever type of accommodation took her fancy upon arrival, even in the busiest season. Accordingly she told the taxi driver to drop them off at the hotel nearest the beach, and 10 minutes later they were flopped out on identical beds, in beach view rooms connected by a bathroom and balcony.

It was into the silence of exhausted sleep that Buffy's phone rang, and although the display ID'd the caller as Willow, it was still hard to answer the call without sounding tired and grumpy.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Willow's immediately contrite tone made Buffy feel guilty enough to sit up and try to attend to the conversation.

"S'alright Will. Did you find anything?"

"Kind of. Do you know a guy called Wesley Windham-Price?"

Buffy frowned as the name rang a distant bell, it didn't seem the type you'd easily forget. Then it hit her, "he was at the party, in London, I think we spoke for a while. Why?"

"So that means he could be a friend of Angel's?"

"More than likely."

"In that case I'm not sure how far we should trust this, considering our not entirely honest activities in Tanzania. But I got an email from Wesley last night."

"Really?" Buffy exclaimed, rapidly feeling much more alert. "How'd he get your address?"

"No idea but he sent me a couple of references to passages in the diaries of the first Venetian Doge's."

"The Governors of Venice in ye olde times?" Buffy confirmed.

"Right. So I looked up the first and it talks about an unusual set of rocks his wife bought from an African trader. 'As big as a man's fist, storm cloud grey and smoothed by a thousand years of sea water," she quoted.

"So he bought some big grey rocks. Will a million rocks fit that description," Buffy sighed.

"That's what I thought," Willow eagerly continued, "but then it says, 'when hit by light one of the rocks seems to contain a viscous substance, as though the tide itself rolled within."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

"So what happened to them?"

"She put them on display in the Palazzo Ducale, with the Tide Rock as the central piece. Which is where they stayed for a couple of hundred years, until the Doge-"

"Will, please tell me this is the short version."

Willow laughed, well aware of her best friend's limited attention span, even when she wasn't jet-lagged and sleep deprived. "I'm wrapping it up, I promise." She gently assured. "According to the second reference, in 1529 Jacopo Sansovino is working on refurbishments to the Basilica di San Marco-"

"The tomb of St Mark?"

"Right. When he pays a visit to the Doge's palace-"

"- spots the rocks and decides to use them in his interior decoration?" Buffy suggested.

"Yep."

Buffy paused for a moment to ensure she was processing this correctly. "The second Tide Rock is in the Basilica di San Marco?" She asked slowly, "the one in the middle of St Mark's Square?"

"According to this? Yes."

Slowly a smile spread across the young blonde's face as the implications of what they were discussing became clearer. They were going to break into one of the most famous churches in the world, a church that sat in one of the most famous public spaces. It was the equivalent of trying to break into Buckingham Palace, or stealing Lenin's body from Red Square. It was crazy, impossible, dangerous – and it was going to be a ton of fun.

"Don't forget where this info is coming from," Willow tried to put the breaks on Buffy's runaway thoughts. "Wesley's with Angel on this and I doubt they're trying to do you a favour."

"No," Buffy agreed, "but no harm going in, taking a look around..."

Willow laughed, the day Buffy found an adventure she wasn't up for the world would probably stop turning.

"Okay, just look, no touching."

"Yes mom."

"Ha ha. I'm going to see what else I can find out."

"Okay, I'll call you later."

"Faith!" Buffy shouted as soon as she'd hung up. A muted grunt came from the other room but no further movement followed. "You'll never guess where we're breaking and entering this time," Buffy persisted. She listened for a few moments but was disappointed to find her excitement met with silence. "Ah, I'll tell you later," she muttered, climbing fully clothed into her own bed.


	5. Part 5

England, London

3.15pm (local time)

"We're not a charity Dick. Either they have the money or they don't."

"It's not as cut and dried as that. In case you'd failed to notice, we have ties with that company that go back a couple of centuries."

Wesley positioned another coloured marker on the large map of the Basilica di San Marco spread out before him, and then consulted the hefty text in his left hand again. It was difficult to ignore the heated exchange taking place in the adjoining office, but there was a great deal to be done in the next few hours and he had no intention of getting on his employer's wrong side, especially when he was already in such a foul mood.

"And how much of that time has been spent bailing them out? If the board have a problem they should have raised it this morning."

'Especially after I cancelled my plans to fly back for their 'critical' progress meeting,' Wesley silently added for him. He could hear the scowl in Liam O'Connor's voice and while his companion, Richard Shepherd, might not know the cause, he would definitely have caught on to the sentiment.

"You've had a run of good luck so far Liam, but you don't need to make any more enemies in this company. I'd pick my battles if I were you."

Wesley's hand hovered over the page he had moved to turn, as he paused in anticipation of the reaction to the mildly worded threat. Liam O'Connor wasn't renowned for his calm temperament at the best of times. In his first week as CEO he'd fired 16 members of staff, all senior management. In the 14 months since then another 53 employees had been culled from the company. He had a reputation for being impatient, blunt, quick-tempered and entirely unpredictable. From Wesley's privileged position as the CEO's personal assistant, he could see that the status was only partly deserved, but it served to restrain the loose tongues and keep the dissatisfied talk down to a hushed whisper. At least for most of the company's employees, 'most' not including Richard Shepherd.

Shepherd was a brilliant strategist and a valuable asset to the company, but the Vice-President's bitterness at spending over a decade dedicated to the company, and coming so close to the seat of power, only to see it usurped by a lily green, pseudo American upstart, was beginning to colour his work. And Wesley suspected that Liam O'Connor was in just the kind of mood where he might forget the value of Richard's work and give the man his marching order.

He was wrong. The office door clicked open and Liam's bland, "I'll keep that in mind," indicated it was he who had crossed the room to open it.

There was a silent pause and Wesley wondered just how suicidal Richard was feeling, was he seriously contemplating saying something further? Not quite suicidal enough clearly because the sound of his feet crossing the room followed, and then the sound of the door clicking shut.

Tension in the corridors of power at _Pierson, White and Associates_ was no new occurrence. In his former position in the research department Wesley Windham-Price had only been privy to rumours of the power struggles that happened upstairs. According to company lore they had been on-going since the unexpected death of former CEO, Declan O'Connor, in 1991 had left a vacuum at the top. Suddenly the controlling 58 the O'Connor family owned became a silent faction and the senior partners swooped on the leadership with alacrity, barely managing to fend off hostile take-overs as they wrangled for power. Liam O'Connor, Declan's only child, was barely in his teens at the time of his father's death and when he chose to study in America he was ruled out as a threat. The fact that he chose Harvard Business school barely even registered on the company radar as his frequent sojourns to far-flung corners of the world fixed him as some sort of Indianna Jones wannabe who'd never settle down to the disciplines of the business world. When he graduated with honours, at the top of his class, most were surprised and there were murmurings about what Declan's golden boy might choose to do next, but none of those warring to run his father's company had an inkling that he might simply return and unapologetically insert himself in his father's former position.

His new role in the company meant Wesley had a front row seat for the after shocks that still rumbled through the company, yet, despite his proximity to the central character in the company drama, Wesley understood little more than those in his former office 15 floors below. He saw the actions, recognised the emotions but couldn't grasp the motivations. Liam O'Connor, 'Angel' to his friends and family, of which there were precious few, was in part all the things he was accused of being. Veterans in the business world expecting to eat the new kid alive had been shocked by how smart and ruthless he was. He made no promises, honoured no old-boy connections and didn't give a damn about crushing anybody who inadvertently got in his way. Profits at the company had flown up 115, inefficiency was a thing of the past and England's youngest CEO had made the front cover of the highly vaunted '_Trading Times'_ twice that year alone. Yet from his right hand position, Wesley could see that the impatience, the aggression, the hard-nosed business savvy came from a deep-seated dislike of the very business he worked in. When his boss was absorbed in researching an artefact, an activity he had less and less time for, or about to set off on an expedition somewhere, it was like encountering a different person. Why Liam O'Connor chose to stay mixed up in the blood and fangs world of high end business and all the society shenanigans that went with it when he so obviously detested it was a question Wesley had so far found himself at a loss to answer.

"They arrived?"

Wesley jumped slightly; 12 months and he still hadn't gotten used to his boss' ability to silently materialise beside him.

"Yes sir. Our contact in the airport says they landed at 1.31pm, local time."

Angel nodded and his 6"1 frame seemed to shed a little of the tension he'd been carrying since arriving back in England the night before.

"Do we know where they're staying?"

"Yes sir, we have a scout following them. They have settled in a beach front hotel on the Lido."

"How about tonight's team?"

"They are fully briefed and ready to act." There was a pause as Liam ran a tired hand through thick, dark hair and quickly scanned the map. Wesley cleared his throat. "Sir, I don't mean to be impertinent…" he removed his glasses and nervously polished them with a soft cloth from his pocket, "…but do you really believe these young ladies will be fool hardy enough to make an attempt on the Basilica?"

"Yes."

The curt response was familiar, but the small smile that accompanied it an expression Wesley rarely saw on his employer's face. Angel turned to leave the room but Wesley felt the need to inquire further. "Sir, again not wishing to speak out of-"

"Wes!"

"Sorry sir. I just thought…" he paused, "it might do to simply ask the girl out," he finally mustered the courage to suggest.

Wesley felt the next pause intimately; it was drawn out in long agonising moments as Liam's dark eyes drilled into him as though he hoped to read the very thoughts in his employee's head. Wesley shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He knew that women found his boss attractive; tall, chiselled good looks coupled with incredible wealth and a mysterious personality were a combination sure to entice any woman. But the impenetrable expressions that appeared whenever an emotion of some kind was required, the terse and sometimes cryptic answers, made Liam O'Connor an impossible man to know.

The smile reappeared out of nowhere, a little wider than it had been before. "Yes, it might do," Angel eventually agreed, before leaving the room.


	6. Part 6

Italy, Venice

10.25pm (local time)

"Deep thoughts Faith?" Buffy asked amused at her friend's uncharacteristic silence. "Just tell Spike how you feel and let love work it's magic."

"Whatever bitch," Faith laughed, and took a huge bite out of her pizza. They were in a city built on water, eating at a 5 star restaurant in the middle of St Mark's Square, surrounded by high brow culture and delicacies of every kind…and they'd opted for pizza, heavy on the cheese. "So run this plan by me again."

"Plan? We have a plan?" Buffy grinned, buoyed up by the promise of the night's adventure. "Okay, so Angel tells us to come to Venice. He then tells us where the second Tide Rock is. Do we trust his intentions? About as much as we'd trust Charles Manson in a Catholic school. Now I figure he wouldn't have expected us here so fast; he's probably working under some deluded notion that we have lives or something-"

"Speak for yourself."

Buffy waved a dismissive hand. "So we have the element of surprise right. I have no idea why he'd share the location of the rock unless (a) it's not where he says it is, or (b) he thinks we'll be too chicken to go get it-"

"Seeing as it's there," Faith interrupted pointing past Buffy at the imposing structure behind her, "in plain view of every Tom, Dick and Fredrico."

"Exactly!" Unperturbed Buffy happily munched on more food, then continued with her mouth full. "So we call his bluff. We go in there tonight, take a look around, if it's there we get the second rock, if it's not there we haven't lost a thing."

"Except for our freedom as we sit and rot in an Italian jailhouse. B that thing's the size of the Whitehouse, and you know it's gonna be secured like San Quinten."

This was a familiar routine, neither girl had any regard for rules or authority, as far as they were concerned, the greater the risk, the greater the attraction. But the best way of circumventing the dangers was to anticipate them and be prepared.

"Fear not my young Padawan. Willow's going to be on the cell ready to disable anything you can't handle, this place will be as deserted as Salam's Lot in a couple of hours and honestly, who'd want to break into the Basilica di San Marco? They're not going to be ready for this."

"Okay, but still leaves us searching for a needle in a freaking large haystack."

"Also taken care of. Will narrowed it down." Buffy leaned to point at the large bag that sat between them underneath the table. "In addition to other fun gadgetry we have maps with coloured stickers." She sat back pleased with her work.

"You're right, we have no plan."

The two girls grinned.

"A toast." Faith raised her glass of Bud ice - in Italy even beer had to be drunk with style - "to the storming of the Basilica."

"To the storming of the Basilica," Buffy agreed clinking glasses.

The night was about to get very interesting.


	7. Part Seven

Italy, Venice

3.10am (local time)

The Basilica sat regally at the far end of the Palazzo San Marco. Said to contain the body of Venice's patron saint, St Mark the apostle, it was revered as one of Italy's most important landmarks and guarded accordingly.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" Faith whispered loudly. With her hair hidden beneath a black wool hat, her body covered by a black sweater, black jeans and black leather gloves, Buffy, crouched a few feet away, was only able to pick her out from the pitch black morning sky by the small flashlight she held.

"What?"

Faith stared down at the control box of the Basilica alarm system in disbelief. "This thing's like a century old. Why don't they just leave the doors open with a big ass sign saying 'Help yourself?"

"They're European," Buffy whispered back urgently, "Paranoia is reserved for us. Quit bitching and just disable the thing already." She peered around the small dome her back rested against and over the side of the roof to ensure they were still alone. So far so good.

"Yeah well, a little bit paranoia would have done that expensive-ass painting of that guy screaming a ton of good."

Turning back, Buffy watched as Faith carefully examined the device from all sides. The urge to bounce impatiently was almost overwhelming, but the Basilica roof had creaked just a little too much as they'd criss-crossed it earlier in search of the control box. "Maybe it's the pink wire," she unhelpfully suggested.

"There is no pink wire IdiotGirl and do I rush you when you bring out those schematic maps and spend hours trying to match them up with some building that's been buried for trillions of years?"

Buffy quickly regretted speaking. Faith loved the process of breaking and entering and took great pride in her work when doing it. "No," she admitted, hoping the indignant speech wouldn't last long.

"Do I bug you when you get paro. and have to recheck every piece of equipment before we skydive?"

"Okay, I get it," she whispered impatiently, "just cut one before we find ourselves on Italy's Most Wanted."

"I know which one to cut," Faith looked back down at her work, "I'm just trying to take out the CCTV first…" she petered out as her attention was again captured by the box before her. "Okay," she snipped a wire, "got it. Closed circuit's down." She looked up, the flashlight still trained on the box. "Okay this alarm's not completely useless. I cut this wire, the system goes down and we're in. But the alarm has a back up. It'll spend 30 minutes trying to reconnect, then it'll figure that maybe this isn't a minor blip and it'll send a distress signal to its central system."

"Which'll be in the nearest police station." Buffy suggested.

"If they're not completely stupid."

"So we have 20 minutes."

"Right."

"You got your map?"

"Yep."

Buffy picked out her friend's tight clothing looking for a tell tale bulge and finding none asked, "where?"

"I have it."

"Have we forgotten the time in-"

"No, we haven't forgotten that time, or the many times your maps have been about as much use as shit up my ass." She snipped the wire. "Time starts now."

"Dammit Faith," Buffy swiftly checked her watch. 3.17am. She snapped on her own flashlight then turned to fit a crowbar in the corner of the tiny window in the dome behind her. She paused momentarily before flipping it up, her full weight behind the action. The window creaked quietly open.

"I saw that hesitation," Faith announced from behind her.

"Whatever." Buffy pulled the window wide open then moved back to allow Faith to attach the winch system to the window frame.

"Thought I'd lost my touch huh?"

"Bound to happen sometime." Buffy pulled a small black disc out of their equipment bag and threw it through the open window.

"Not in your lifetime B," Faith easily added as she waited, fingers poised over the winch input pad, while Buffy stared down through the window at numbers now illuminated on the disc.

"126 metres," she reported back.

"Faith nodded, put the figure in and set the winch. "Age before beauty." She moved back from the window allowing Buffy to sit on the edge, feet dangling in, and attach the winch harnesses.

"Whatever be-atch." Buffy snapped the clasps in place, checked her tiny back pack, then her watch– 3.21 – then with a parting, 'don't get lost hey," disappeared into the inky black.

She hurtled down at break neck speed, her harness straps hissing softly as the winch released the slack. At 100 feet she began to slow, by the time she reached126 she had stopped completely, her feet inches from the ground. Releasing the harness straps she jumped to the ground, then gave the straps an urgent tug that sent them flying back up towards the window for Faith.

The routine was so familiar it barely required thought. Within seconds dim fluorescent lights sat in a large circle on the marble plated floor. They cast a soft glow reflecting off the gold fragments on shadowy mosaics and merely hinting at the extensive interior of the tomb. The hissing of Faith's descent came from the roof as Buffy quickly vaulted over a crowd barrier and moved toward what she hoped was the main door. According to the map there was a vestibule to the right of the door from which a hidden staircase could be accessed.

Once she'd walked a few feet the fluorescent lamps behind her became useless and she had to rely on her flashlight to see by, this made the progress slower but didn't dim the excitement one iota. Finally the beam of light picked out a large wooden door and swinging to the right she spotted the doorway. She jogged towards it, her plimsolled feet making a soft flat noise on the marble. The staircase was long and steep and came out in what she knew to be the Museo Marciano; a small room that contained a miscellaneous collection of mosaic fragments, carvings, vestments and other items that had no particular home. Buffy ran her flashlight from floor to ceiling in a quick sweep of the room and was just heading back toward the stairs when her ear piece crackled into life.

"North Façade's a bust B, I'm checking out the tombs in the Narthex," Faith's voice announced.

"Okay, nada in the Museo. I'll head for the South Façade." Buffy took a quick glance at her watch, indio digits revealed the time was 3.28. She took the stairs a little faster than was safe and upon reaching the bottom raced left. The Museo had really been the most likely spot for the Rock because the artifact wouldn't easily fit in anywhere else, the other locations were just hopefu- her foot caught the edge of a barrier and it smashed to the ground with a metallic din that seemed to reverberate off every solid surface in the building, rising in volume as the echos joined together.

Buffy stood frozen, every muscle tensed in anticipation of flight. Silently she willed the noise to die down, and once it did she found herself trembling and unable to move as she waited for the sound of sirens.

"Holy shit B, you trying to wake the neighbourhood?"

Faith's voice pulled her out of her stupor. "Should we bail?"

"No, I think we're good. Just try not to trip over any more shit."

Her heart racing Buffy continued on her path with a great deal more caution. It seemed an age before she found herself at the South wall but when she checked her watch she found it was only 3.32.

The South wall looked completely out of place in the majestic grandeur of the rest of the Basilica. The grey stone of the walls seemed to absorb the flashlight she trained on it and the panels set into the stone work had to work hard to save the wall from being completely unattractive.

"Nothing in the tombs but old stones and Bible pictures. I'm making the Treasury my last stop."

"Okay Faith. I'm nearly done with the South Façade, after that I'll do the Sanctuary."

"Roger that."

The Sanctuary was supposed to be to the left of the South wall but heading that way Buffy couldn't find the small set of stone steps that were supposed to lead up to it. She tried the other direction but that led back to towards the Museo. Jogging back to the South wall she pulled out her map, desperately aware that time was running out.

"Holy shit! You would not believe the ice that is in here B! It's like Indianna frigging Jones in the Temple of Doom. I'm gonna go blind on the amount of metal I'm seeing."

"Any rocks?" Buffy asked, distractedly trying to find her current position on the map.

"Yeah there's rocks. One of these babies and I'm set for life."

Buffy frowned as a glance at her watch told her they had two minutes. "Dammit, we've only got a couple of minutes but I've got to find the Sanctuary."

"Well technically we've still got a good ten minutes plus the time it takes them to get here, but you'd better hustle cos for all we know, the cop house could be on the next street."

Buffy folded up the map and turned left again. "Finish up in the Treasury and head up, I'll meet you on the roof." Buffy followed the wall round, her hands tracing the panelling so that she wouldn't miss any narrow openings.

"I'll just grab me one of these…"

"Whatever Faith, no dealer in his right mind would take that off of you."

"That's just fine cos in Southie most people ain't in their right mind and they'd take your dead mother off of you if they thought she'd sell."

Buffy shook her head, then smiled as her hands turned abruptly in and her feet kicked a raised step.

"Found the Sanctuary," she announced.

"Well there's no boring ass, dull rock in here so I'm out."

"Kay," Buffy mumbled distracted, her attention fixed on the incredible bronze panels detailing scenes from St Mark's life. At the far end of the room her flashlight picked out the alabaster columns supporting the altar, underneath which sat a huge sarcophagus. Buffy promised herself she'd return and get a better look at all of this, preferably by light of day, but as she made her way over to the altar, behind which her map had identified the Pala d'Oro, she knew she'd never get a closer view than this. The Pala d'Oro, or 'golden altar screen' was as impressive as the guide books described it. "_enlarged, enriched and rearranged by Byzantine goldsmiths in 1105, then by Venetians in 1209 to incorporate some of the loot from the Fourth Crusade, and again in 1345, the completed screen teams with jewels and miniscule figures._" The real thing was even more remarkable because while the books listed - in painstaking detail - the number of enamel plaques and roundels, chiselled figures, sapphires , garnets, emeralds and so on, they didn't have the time, or the pages to describe how intricately and perfectly the various pieces were arranged to create minute images that flowed seamlessly into one another, telling stories from Biblical times that warred to grab the attention and dazzled when stared at too closely. Buffy kneeled, her eyes scanning the stones for a touch of grey, her senses reeling from the assault of imagery and colour.

"Okay B, I'm looking at 3.41. You gotta get your ass out of there."

Faith's voice cut into Buffy's daze and she moved to rise, then paused as her eyes were caught by _The Resurrection_, the stone covering Jesus' tomb in particular. The stone that when she moved her flashlight a little and shone it at a particular angle seemed liquid at its centre.

"Dammit Faith, I found it!" She dropped her back pack from her shoulders and rummaged in it for her flick knife.

"Okay, but you still got less than no time to get out of there."

Finding the knife she snapped it open, then went to work on digging the rock out of the frame. It came off with a yank and her hands trembled with the rush of adrenaline, the second Tide Rock, this was an incredible find.

"B, 3.43, tell me you're moving."

Buffy threw the rock into her bag, and jumped to her feet, talking as she snapped it shut, "I'm moving." Out in the main building once more she jogged in the direction of the dim circle of lights she'd first set up. The journey took forever as she dodged barriers and tourist information boards but she finally reached the group of lamps. Swiftly she grabbed them up, snapping them off and stuffing them into her bag.

"I'm coming up," she said, fastening the harness tightly. A bounce down and leap up and she was once again hurtling skyward. At the window Faith pulled her out and began unscrewing the winch from the edge even as Buffy unfastened her harness. They worked in silence, their ears primed for police sirens and approaching feet. None came and they abseiled down the back of the building without incident.

They had reached the ground and were disengaging their belay's when a blinding light suddenly engulfed them causing them to whirl around, then squint at its intensity.

"GIRI INTORNO!" a gruff voice barked loudly.

"Shit!" Faith muttered, echoing Buffy's thoughts exactly.

"che cosa state facendo a questo periodo della notte?" the same voice demanded approaching them, flanked by three uniformed men.

"Sorry, we're American, we don't speak Italian." Buffy apologised, desperately trying to remember if Italian police carried firearms; in England they could have made a dash for it.

"Affronti la parete," he snarled upon reaching them, and punctuated his words by physically turning them so that they faced the wall. Buffy could hear their equipment bag been torn open.

"Should we run?" she whispered to Faith through her mouthpiece.

"SILENZIO!" She flinched at the command.

Her back pack was roughly pulled from her shoulders and her arms yanked into the air so that she stood with face and palms pressed to the Basilica wall.

"Hey, easy with the manhandling," Faith complained loudly, and risking a glance Buffy saw her friend had been forced into the same position. She vaguely wondered what her father would say when he was contacted by the Italian police, probably the American authorities too, this sort of thing could not be good for international relations, would it even bother him?

The voices continued to converse in Italian but grew quieter as they retreated behind the light once more. Suddenly the air was pierced by the wail of sirens. 'Probably reinforcements,' Buffy thought, then spun around as she realised the light had gone. She stared at Faith in confusion, as they realised their captors had disappeared too. The wailing became louder and with one mind the girls grabbed their bags and raced off down the back streets, abandoning the ropes that still hung from the Basilica roof.

"Do you know where we are?" Faith coughed, coming to a halt, her body bent double as she struggled for air.

Buffy leaned against a wall, equally exhausted. "No," gasp, "idea."

"We have to get out of here."

They were a good few miles from St Mark's Square, but the streets were so narrow that one curious resident checking their street for the cause of the commotion could blow their cover.

"Yeah." Buffy straightened, holding ribs that ached with exertion.

"We find somewhere to change," Faith quickly took charge, "then just lay low, blend with the early morning traffic when it starts."

Buffy nodded. They picked up their bags and casually headed out of the street, moving north in order to put as much distance between themselves and the police as possible.

Venice was peaceful and still in the early dawn light. Occasionally a boat would come chugging along the waterway, but the engine noise gave the girls plenty of advanced warning and they were able to find a convenient alcove or bush that would conceal them until the vehicle passed.

A few streets down and Faith had recovered enough to ask the question that had been plaguing both their thoughts. "What in the holy _fuck_ was that?" She demanded. She was back in blue jeans, her dark hair hung loose and her eyes blazed with angry indignation.

"Wasn't the police," Buffy offered running a distracted hand through her own locks. Her head hurt with the frustration of running the question in continuous circles and coming up blank everytime.

"Sure wasn't. B, we just got fleeced. What the _fuck_ is that about?" She stopped abruptly realising her friend was no longer with her; turning back she found Buffy standing stock-still a few feet back, a look of disbelieving shock on her face. "What?"

Buffy didn't answer, merely looked at her, green eyes wide, mouth slack. Faith stared back in confusion…and then out of nowhere it clicked. "No _fucking_ way," she exclaimed, her expression mirroring Buffy's.

Buffy spread her palms, recognising they were now on the same page, "give me an alternative," she pleaded.

Faith shook her head, her brain still unable to accept what she was contemplating. "Dammit!" She yelled angrily, then suddenly burst into laughter. Buffy looked at her wondering if her friend had lost her mind. Faith merely raised a hand, still laughing and stated, "your man is _good_."

Buffy's eyes narrowed dangerously and all the shock and uncertainty was abruptly reformed into a new emotion. "I. Am. Going. To. Kick. His. Ass," she growled, then stomped off down the street.


End file.
